The day was old. Evening had already fallen and the occupant of Stroud’s 2nd floor loft hadn’t peeked his head out of his front door once. In fact, when not forced or expected to, the new corrupt had chosen to find solace within the confines of the four walls that created what he now needed to learn to call home. Survival was just bare minimum while Aelius attempted to cope with the literal life-changing situation that had happened just before the new year.
Even his own birthday had passed without so much as an indication to it occuring. Not that it mattered. Who, in his new life, would care?
Only ambient light from untreated windows filtered into the otherwise completely dark loft. A lump, curled beneath a blanket, a single pillow his only real cushion as he lay on a thin mat on hardwood floor. It was the only indication that the young man was even inhabiting the loft and hadn’t run off in hope of finding something better. He had a feeling his chances of running away weren’t good. Plus, where would he go if no one he knew would recognize him?
Curled up on his side with legs tucked towards chest, arms in front of him, Aelius slept as peacefully as one could when plagued by nightmares. A twitch. The occasional huff of breath or mumble indicated the young man’s lack of peaceful sleep. Even his posture, usually open and sprawled told a story of how uncomfortable he was even in his sleep.
Faustite needed no keys.
He remembered the empty loft layout well -- twin to its top floor, only the view and contents changed. Where once there stood work bench and tall, lanky bookcases, there was nothing. Where once a rug laid, there was nothing. Where once a piece of framed art hung expertly on the wall, there was nothing. The naked view outdoors showed the coy midsection of a tree rather than its tip, and those were the few known changes.
So Faustite found no struggle slipping into the apartment. Booted feet thocked gently on the floorboards, betraying his slight weight, as he crossed halls. A portal crossed, a wall rounded. Black fingers traced their gimmicked lines down painted sheetrock until he stood before the lone occupant. There, coiled in place over a shoddy mat, lay the man formerly known as Rowan Cameron.
As he loomed over the twitching boy, frowning, Faustite recollected no new name. Heliodor came to mind as the blacked-out equivalent. But what this shivering wretch chose to call himself eluded him. Guarded liar as he was, Faustite expected that name to stay secret for some time yet.
Not that he would need it in the interim.
"Recruit," he addressed, lacking softness in his voice. He kicked at the estimate of a coiled foot. "Get up. Your training starts in five minutes." Hands found their interlace at the small of his back. He waited, fully expectant of complaint.
Try my patience, Rowan. You'll find I have none left for you.
There was a moment and body shot upright that real life and nightmare was impossible to tell the difference of. Pupils were dilated with in wide eyes as Aelius gasped in air. After a few seconds passed, he gained control of himself and wiped a hand down his face that held a light sheen of sweat. Hair was tossed about, unkempt and showing his lack of restful sleep.
Swallowing hard, Aelius looked up at the figure that loomed over him. A figure familiar enough that the new recruit internally groaned at seeing the pipe riddled half-youma. “Five minutes?” He blinked back the sleep. “Talk about short notice.” He grumbled. “A little heads up would be nice.”
Complaints aired, the youth flung the blankets form his legs fully revealing he had opted to sleep in the slacks and shirt he had worn the previous day. The rumpled clothes were hard to discern though in the darkness and Aelius could care less how he looked anyway. He had no one to impress with well kempt clothes and hair. Not that I could afford to buy anything anyway. That thought felt like cold water being poured over his body.
Standing up, he stepped off the mat that was working as his ‘bed’. There were times he wondered if the hardwood floor would be better, but at least the mat kept his body heat. He could pretend, if he tried really hard, that he was still at home in his queen size bed surrounded by blankets and feathered pillows.
That always required every ounce of his imagination and usually ended in depression.
“Alright I am up and moving.” He said as he brushed a hand through his hair. Small knots clung to his fingers with the gesture. Without thought he worked the knots free in an attempt to smooth the unruly mane. Perhaps his vanity was too ingrained.
He eyed Faustite, the smoke barely visible in the dark was discernible by smell alone. “I guess you want me powered up, too.” He said with a hint of obstinance.
"How entitled," Faustite shot back, amused. "I see that part of you hasn't died. Always expecting more. Expectation doesn't fill your apartment with furniture." Faustite entered into a pace, letting his footfalls fill the room as surely as his smoke. The place felt like an echo chamber -- like a vacuum against the outside world that threatened him so. But the apartment's lone occupant could languish no longer; the Negaverse's stock of leniency was all used up.
Pity for you, Rowan Cameron. You have no money left to buy your comforts. No pittances to pay away your duties.
Faustite halted his pace at the sound of the boy's annoyance, and only turned in the lingering moments afterward. A hand reached to pocket, and out drew his watch. It glinted its cunning from a pale stripe of dying sun. And while both hour and minute were off, the slow tick of minute hand matched any reputable clock. In all the time he spent rustling about, Rowan wasted only thirty seconds. "Interesting." He clasped the watch shut. "You waste your forewarning while complaining for one." I wonder what Stroud thought of me in my first months of training. I bet it wasn't any different.
"Transform." His hands found the small of his back once more and he looked on expectantly. What glowered before him was a swath of potential lost, trussed up in violet hair and eyes aglitter like midsummer dreams. But he let his charm of appearance to waste -- dressed in yesterday's clothes, hair tangled in knots, the shadow of the morning's neglected care brushing cheeks and chin. Stroud would not see him out with her, even if he earned it.
"We aren't leaving until you do."
Faustite pulled out what Aelius thought might be a trinket or...no it was a watch. It was hard to tell in the dying light not to mention he really didn’t care much for what the half-youma was doing. Though, it was peculiar that yet another person he knew walked around with a pocket watch. He’d never seen anyone with one near his age except Elex.
The pang of guilt and worry hit him and he turned his gaze away from the Captain. Where was Elex at? Was he alright?
“You said five minutes, right?” Aelius didn’t give pause for Faustite to respond. Instead he walked out of the room, leaving the Captain to stand there and do whatever he wished in the interim. It wouldn’t be until the sound of a flushing toilet and running water could be heard through the echoey loft that Aelius’s destination could be deduced.
When he returned he didn’t look quite as shoddy with hair somewhat tamed and water having been splashed on his face in an attempt to wake himself up, but that under laying look of being miserable was still there. His attempts at trying to look a bit more reasonable could only do so much and really, he very quickly began to wonder why he even cared.
Or, maybe it had all been a plot to purposely make the Captain wait. Aelius was pretty sure he’d wasted several minutes in there. At least 3 if not 4. After all, the half youma had made it clear they weren’t leaving until Aelius had powered up. What would happen come the five minute mark? A rebellious streak that had never really reared its head before was peeking out of the older teen.
“Can’t blame a guy for needing to use the bathroom after getting woken up.” He commented dryly when he stepped back into the room. Yawning he shrugged. “So what do you intend to do, hm? Drag me out of here to go on some errand that I want nothing to do with.” He raised a brow, still not making a move for the stick that lay on the floor near where he had been laying. “What great new technique am I to learn now?” Sarcasm dripped heavily from each word, as golden eyes, full of defiance, watched the Captain.
There was curiosity to how far he could push. What buttons were off bounds. How much would faustite take?
So expectant. Is it chaos's doing, or is it your own ugly personality covering for your loss? You used to be someone I liked. Now I wonder about my taste.
The minutes passed in silence, a funeral procession for wasted time. He marched to the soundless wicking away of moments until the present felt dry and starved for any real actions. Still, his new recruit lingered in the bathroom. Faustite wondered if Schörl predicted Heliodor's obstinance, if she recognized his mulish resistance in the dull glaze of gold eyes. And, knowing that, did she force him onto Faustite's empty training roster for petty retribution? The answer was all murk to him. Nor did it matter -- the Negaverse cared all for result and none for complaint.
But Heliodor returned with an emboldened flippancy, as if his turning away from his superior showed up Faustite in some manner. The captain's lips pursed, and he ceased in his pacing just long enough to afford his recruit a once-over. Already he tried to assume control over their prearranged meetings. "It isn't your place to ask." The words came simply, conversationally.
He closed their distance in two paces and snatched away one of Heliodor's dismissive hands in his own. Waver only held for a moment -- the long-practiced memory of gaping hallways, teething doors and ancient stone staircases clawed their way up from his mind, and sprung up about them shortly thereafter. Crystalline structures peered their blistering light over the pair, echoing the purple hue to the new recruit's hair. Behind Faustite, a cavern mouthed its open aggression. Before him, a staircase wound its forever ascent toward the Citadel's throne room. And to their right, his point of interest, stood a door so covered in eyes and teeth that it very much looked alive.
Apprehension pulled taut on the muscles of Faustite's throat. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out for the ancient iron handles that hung low from the huge edifice. Once black fingers found the cold metal, he paused.
With a veritable shove, the great doors yawned their hissing hinges wide. Darkness met the dull glow of crystals with an old, insidious hatred. Along the walls, glossed over and grease-slick, humanoid shadows danced with writhing hands reaching, with glowing eyes piercing. As Faustite fell silent, their wordless hate formed a churning aural river. They cursed and spat in tongues too ancient to know. They reached and sneered and lurched and writhed and hated with all their timeless, endless vehemence by simply looking on at their gawking audience.
"Tell me what you're thinking right now." His words were meant for Heliodor, but his gaze found the limitless eyes that never ceased their hungering.
The unexpected teleporting left Aelius feeling a bit thrown off when they appeared in the citadel. It took the young man a few moments to recover himself and fully appreciate their change in scenery. While not necessarily to his taste, the stone staircases, multiple doors, crystalline structures and the overall hazy purple ambiance created a very impressive feel. It was almost as if the area had been pulled out of some ancient medieval book or something with that hint of fantastical flare.
And then one looked towards the one major door in the room and what seemed like a happy fantasy castle immediately turned into something that stepped out of a horror movie. Aelius instantly stepped back and away from the door. An involuntary response, but one he was not at all upset about. Anyone facing a door as intimidating as that would surely step away. The eyes seemed to be watching him. Studying him. While the teeth, God, the teeth! There was a fear that touching the thing would result in the loss of fingers.
But touch it Faustite did, and fingers remained on their respective hands.
The doors yawned open to reveal even more horrors. By this point Aelius was ready to vacate the area. To leave and never come back, but at the same time...he couldn’t look away. When else did anyone see something so ghastly, haunting and eerie? Something that rocked him to the core. Each shadows figure moved and writhed with hands reaching out as if the grab him. Eyes, everywhere, were without a doubt looking at him and the Captain. Studying them. Hungering. Words were shouted. None of them comprehensible to the purple-haired teen, but caused good flesh to p***k over his entire body nonetheless.
“It’s...terrifying.” He replied honestly, his eyes never leaving the shifting scene in front of him. “It’s like…” He licked his lips as he searched for words. “It’s like something out of a nightmare I never would have thought up myself. At the same time it’s completely mystifying…”
In that moment, Aelius had forgotten who he was. What he lost. What this trip resulted from. In that specific moment, his mind was on one thing only. “What is it? What are they? And why bring me here to see this?”
"There's something you need to know." He looked to Heliodor, fist still clutching tight over the civilian's bare hand. "The Negaverse doesn't care for impudence. It isn't interesting. It isn't worthwhile. It isn't useful. I'll show you where that attitude will take you.
"When you were corrupted, you didn't show much promise. Yours was a corruption of necessity. I thought my superior would sooner rip your starseed out and use it for an emergency over formally corrupting and training you. But she followed through, and here you are now." He echoed the statement. "Here you are now, spitting in the face of that trust. Insisting that you'll continue being useless. That you'll stand belligerent against the only organization that can provide for you now. You won't have long to be proud of yourself."
Faustite ensured the minutes stretched painfully, that Heliodor could not leave his post at the captain's side. "This is the Hall of Shadows. It empties out into the Rift, the lowest part of Negaverse dominion. All these creatures," he paused, pointing down each side of the hall, "were once men and women. People like you. Able-bodied citizens with hopes and dreams and aspirations. Lives. Families. Interests and goals. Talents. Aspirations. But, one way or another, the Negaverse repurposed them. They couldn't meet their bare minimum requirements as part of the Negaverse. Now, they hold an eternal vigil over anyone who enters this hallway -- anyone who wants to venture into a land of broken possibilities.
"That fate could be yours. You're striving for it right now." Even if it's closer to my future than yours. He left the words to linger between them, to drift down the hall where they touched the heavy crystal walls. The irrefutable truth of his statements looked back at each of them with a hateful hunger.
"You look like you want that fate." With a deep groan, the door lurched to join its twin. Faustite sealed the hallway with liberal force. When he looked again to Rowan, it was with a gaze appraising, an attention curious. "Learn to obey and your situation will improve. Stay like this, and you'll have more worries than how much forewarning you get before training.
"Are we clear?"
Oddly enough, Aelius didn’t attempt to pull away from the Captain’s grip. Whether it was working to ground him or the physical touch was reassuring was up for debate, but Aelius didn’t once tug. In fact, fingers flexed into the grip as eyes remained focused on the horror in front of him for there was no other way to describe the writhing mass of limbs and faces.
“No promise.” He said softly eyes flickering from one form that seemed to be reaching out to him to another that wailed an blabbered loudly in a language he couldn’t understand. He blinked and practically ripped his gaze away to look at Faustite. “Wait….what did you say?” His voice was quiet and he listened but his attention had hooked onto specific words spoken.
“So these...things...they were once people like me. Like you?” It was more horrific than he had thought. “And they had been just tossed away like trash into this place and made into these? To guard this doorway and watch people who go through it? That seems overtly harsh. And you’re telling me I need to bend my will to this organizations whims so I don’t become one? That…” He shook his head. “I feel like I’ve fallen into a nightmare.”
He held his breath as he turned back to look at the forms again. A shiver ran up his spine at the thought of being reduced to something like that.
]But how am I much more than them now? What do I have to show for my life? Everything that mattered to me is gone and why bother trying to build a new life with a group that will literally throw people’s lives away. It was a sobering thought and one that resulted in Rowan’s rigid spine collapsing some.
Finally Faustite closed the door and the constant noise was replaced with the silence of the citadel. He stood staring at that door for a moment. His focus never changed though his grip tightened on the hand holding his and when he finally asked a question his voice barely carried between them. “So, I was corrupted out of necessity not want. A useless being plucked because there was no other choice.” It was the first bit of info about his corruption that he had been told.
It even hurt more knowing he hadn’t been wanted.
“Why was I such a necessity to corrupt?” He turned eyes to Faustite, brows furrowed. I can’t remember a thing. Maybe it’s a blessing that I don’t remember but it doesn’t stop the nagging feeling of wanting to know.” He stopped, his hand slackening in it’s grip. “Nevermind.”
He didn’t actually expect Faustite to answer him anyway. Why would he? Self defeatist attitudes had never been for me before. I suppose a lot has changed about me the day I was brought into this fold.
"I don't know their full story. I don't want to know it." Their hate is an ageless one, older than the bones of this castle. Older than the rock beneath it. The way they're still endlessly puppeteered by the chaos that dominated their bodies… That fate is my inevitability.
Faustite did not release his grip, though he tugged Heliodor into a pace. Thought haunted and stalked in this section of the halls, and he wanted none of it -- he wanted none of the voices seeping through the cracks in the door, of the starred eyes that settled on each of them, of the fingers scratching their greedy ownership into old stone. He very nearly fled, bounding down steps two at a time, nearly too long for legs like his. But he hadn't faltered, and the distance wore better on his scowl.
When Faustite spoke again, it was in tones acrid and demeaning. "Your boyfriend didn't want you killed. He didn't want you to be a treat in someone's teeth." Down the stairs he went, tugging along his burden on a path he never asked for. "It wasn't my preference. I'd sooner see you lining someone's pockets with the way you make yourself a chore."
When he reached the basest level of the Citadel, he finally broke hold over his subordinate. A quick step and he turned, smoke set into a whorl, and faced the sullen Heliodor in all his self-indulgent pity. "You said you feel like you fell into a nightmare. You didn't. Falling into a nightmare implies agency. It says you had wit enough to be walking. You were dragged into one, like a toy on a string. Like an invalid steered around by its nurse." Like I have no earthly clue what it's like to lose everything.
"And still you fight your betters. You kick and scream and piss yourself at the first sign of work because you have nothing of the life you never earned. Quit crying over yourself. If you hate wasting away in an empty apartment, then follow your orders. Show General Schörl that you're worth the money. She'll furnish you only what you earned." The irony of his words seized his throat as awareness traced back along overlong halls. He remembered precisely the dimensions of his stout closet, where nothing adorned crystal-hewn walls. Where a mat lay stained with black soot, and battered with the fitful body over top of it. He knew that same nothing.
And Heliodor had the gall to play pity olympics with it.
Aelius followed along with the tug of his hand. He didn’t know the Citadel at all and seeing as Faustite was his tour guide and way out, he wasn’t inclined to part ways. So, as much as being led around like a small child was a hit to his ego, he wasn’t about to complain and especially not after what he just witnessed behind those doors.
His pace picked up to match Faustite’s which wasn’t terribly hard considering their height difference. Golden eyes that were lost in the decor of the citadel quickly honed in on Faustite like a hawk to prey at the mention of his boyfriend. This was the first hint of Elex since he’d been here. No one had mentioned him and Aelius never really got the chance to ask in the whirlwind that had been his life since his corruption. “Do you know Elex? Where is he? Is he is alright?”
When they finally reached the bottom of the stairs and Faustite finally broke contact Aelius came to an easy stop as Faustite whirled on him. He was taken back by the young man’s look and brows furrowed before anger swelled within him at the words said. “You talk like all I care about is what my apartment looks like and how comfortable my sleeping place is.” He ground out. “That’s the least of my worries right now about this whole messed up situation. Standing there preaching to me about my worth to General Schorl is only reiterating my point --"
A flicker-click sounded mid-sentence, and smoke exploded from the youmafied captain. Heat and cloying toxicity suffused the air around them, choking and damning any further conversation. He waited only long enough for the interruption to stifle Heliodor before he drew the concoction back into his own body.
"You don't have the right to ask questions of me." You were made aware of this from the start. Did you forget?
"You complain about simple things." His habitual pace picked up again, and booted heels scuffed at the floor while he spoke. "Not enough time before training. Being inconvenienced by Negaverse errands. The difficulty of learning a new skill for your new position. You talk like all you care about is what your apartment looks like.
"And you complain that the Negaverse cares about no one." He paused, turned heel-step for a different direction. "You miss the hole in your own backward logic. Are you listening? Proving your worth to General Schörl gives her a reason to care. Proving your worth to me gives me a reason to care. If you want to fulfill your own abominable expectations for life, walk into the Hall of Shadows." Faustite gestured back toward the staircase with a flippant sweep of his hand. "Go ahead. You have my leave.
"But if you're looking for a solution to your problems, stop performing and start watching. Not everything is as it seems. You, of all people, should know that." Even if you forgot it, I still remember Axinite's lines.
You're a liar, Rowan. You lied to everyone who mattered to you and you can't cope with the consequences of those lies. You can't stand when life doesn't conform to coddle you.
You waste my time.
The smoke rightly choked him, stopping the tirade of words almost instantly as smoke clung to his throat. Coughing, he waved a hand around in front of his face as he tried to back out of the smoke cloud. As if by mercy, Faustite retrieved the cloying copper and moondust scented smog back to his body, leaving a poor Aelius to gasp in the fresh air as he continued to clear his lungs.
“So you prove my point.” He said after another last cough to clear his throat. “I am only worth what I can offer and that sort of caring is not what I am talking about. Perhaps I would be better just waiting into that hall. You’ve made it pretty clear to me that you think I am worth pretty much nothing to you.”
Without thought Aelius turned. Whether it was a bluff or not, he didn’t care but at that moment his mind was not thinking logically. Anger and brazen intent were what spurred him on as he began to retrace the steps he and Faustite had taken. Step after step he took with anger as his fuel. Why couldn’t Faustite understand where he was coming from? How hard was it to be thought of as a human being with emotions and feelings? Adjusting to such a large life change was not easy. Of course he was angry, upset, lost...lonely.
Before he even realized it he was standing in front of those terrifying doors. The doors that would lead to the end of his existence as he knew it. The wails of the once people could be heard filtering through the cracks and gave the young man pause as he stood staring. Everything could just end right there. Be done with it all. Call it quits. A hand reached forward…
And stopped. Curling into a fist he dropped it to his side, nails digging into his palm. Who am I kidding? I may hate this new life i am in but i am not willing to become some sort of watchguard for these people. That would be giving them too much.
Stepping back from the door, Aelius stood there for a few moments torn between staying there and seeing if Faustite would come to him to see if he actually went through with it or sucking up his pride and going back himself. In his indecision he began a slow, almost funeral like walk back to the Captain only to stop about half way down the stairs as he leaned against the banister. His anger and frustration had hit the point that it needed a release and he would be damned if he let Faustite see the tears that wet his cheeks.
Moments and moments and moments and moments and moments, each tipping from his fingers while he aged no older, while he waited in waste of time, while he stewed in the myriad seas of mistakes that now rose up to swallow him where once they barely lapped at his feet. The tread of ocean-soft sand beneath his feet now hardened, baked from Schörl's blistering luminosity, formed the glass that cut through too-nubile flesh. But the damage was not in the waiting, nor in the wading. He knew as much.
Seconds passed into minutes gratefully, as a scant reprieve from the mind's self-imposed rack. Starless eyes looked to yawning hulls of crystal and rock and manmade hubris hewn by nature's temperance. Heliodor would be outlasted.
This place swallows us up like wasted seconds. It's distasteful to stomach your own meaninglessness, isn't it? You have to learn this flavor.
You have to learn it just as I have to learn intolerance.
Faustite stopped his count when thought-glass cut to the quick, when blood filled the space in his mind. There was a finality to such a wait -- a knowledge that Heliodor would still be, or imminently not be. But that last step would confirm Faustite's poor choice and push him inevitably closer to the fate that he just debuted, wide and tastelessly, unveiled like a circus act with shock value factored into the price of admission.
"Barbary," he called to the walls. They answered, but not with voice.
Faustite caught sight of the rug's movements. Waddling out from dark corridors, Schörl's lion on loan stood to take his orders. Swift he would have to be in giving them. "Bring him back to me. He's had his time to play."
Dutifully it swathed itself across the floor, never a noise in its wake. There it would hunt the halls until the acquired familiarity of Heliodor was found, swaddled, and walked back with volition robbed from him. If he could not move his legs to match the beat of the drum, then Barbary would command that body for him.
And if even that found no success, then the body was better off without the mind.
Unwelcomed and not at all soothing as a true blanket, the youma’s appearance and sudden enshrouding was near frightening. Tears quickly dried as he was forcefully ushered from his position on the stairwell. Fighting the youma was not within his physical capability nor his mental one. It just felt like another slap to the face. A slap he knew somehow knew was coming but still hurt to the core.
Faustite stood in the same spot that Aelius had left him. The half-youma gave no indication that he ever thought to make pursuit of his wayward charge. Again, Aelius felt like he was a child being looked down upon. Perhaps it was true in some ways. In this world he had been brought into, he was a child. He had a lot to learn both mentally and physically, but aelius also refused to give into the notion that he needed to give up on himself. To settle.
With Barbary wrapped around him like a tight blanket, Rowan had been unable to wipe away the tracks of his tears. Damp lines still clung to skin and he felt ashamed for it but refused to look away from those dark, pupiless eyes that felt like they would swallow him whole if they could.
“Had to send a pet after me?” He remarked when he finally came to a stop in front of him. A shake of a head, helped shift wefts of hair out of his face as he awaited, as patiently as possible, for the youma to let him go. He wasn’t going to even try to bluff his way through this. He had been gone long enough that if he had stepped through that door Faustite would have known. Aelius wouldn’t be standing there in front of him.
“I couldn’t do it.” He said bluntly. “Happy? You proved a point. If I can’t take my life into my own hands then what else am I supposed to do but move like a puppet on your strings?” It was...sobering. Depressing.
Faustite weathered Heliodor's bite as much as he could against his own inner boiling. He wanted Schörl's witless indulgence then, but found it was with only his own taste in irony that he chuckled.
But he spoke in the same moiling quietude that he used with patient explanation. "You'll learn that 'moving like a puppet on my strings' is in your best interests. You demand a handout. You expect to be cared for because you exist. But that's an empty care -- it's unearned. It's the fettered byproduct from your spoiled upbringing. We don't need that part of you, Heliodor, so we'll dispose it." He waved silently to the youma, who in taking up the order, filtered off of the captive civilian's body. As always, it retreated to the dark corridors of the room where it might watch for its pitiless mistress.
A short pause followed. A shift of demeanor, of how his shoulders settled against the lines of the room, and he spoke again. This time, his tone bore the edge of secrecy. "How you function here and how you were raised are antithetical. They'll never reconcile. You figured that out by now -- it's in the way you balk at the sight of me.
"But the Negaverse is your second dialect -- it's a partition created in yourself. Just as you can be Heliodor or the name you chose for yourself, you learn to switch that dialect. Your pen provides that switch. A transformation separates you into two distinct people, but you're still one in the same. You learn to use that switch here, too -- to push from care-starved anonym to a soldier that strives for no connections. You learn to exist opposite yourself just as you can be yourself.
"And these two parts inform each other. You will better learn the meaning behind connecting to someone else when you've killed someone and internalized that mortality." He swallowed against the rising sea. "Your family isn't yours anymore. It's sudden. It's violent. But they're still yours -- those memories are there, burning hotter than they did when you first made them -- and you can't excise those bonds. You're learning to appreciate them in their absence. You're learning that you have to first be no-one with nothing to grasp what connection means." Just as I have to become monster to sharpen my sense of man.
"Think about it. You aren't Rowan Cameron anymore yet you inexplicably, undeniably are. Think about what that means."
Faustite reached for a hand without prompt, and in seizing it, changed the subject against all other queries. "We've wasted enough time now. Back to task." Their twin visages flickered, then vanished.
Strickenized
